Fusion
by JellyBean30
Summary: 5th & Final Stories in series: Intertia, Paralyzed, Collide & Momentum. House/Cameron, obviously, just another will they/won't they finale. Rated M for some language & sex - COMPLETE!
1. Remember

A/N: This is the final story in the five part series Intertia, Paralyzed, Collide & Momentum. This is not the original format for this story. But FF wouldn't support the document with my original formatting. C'est la vie... I think this works just as well. So, the plain text is Cameron and the bold text is House.

_Through all of my life  
In spite of all the pain  
You know people are funny sometimes  
'cos they just can't wait  
To get hurt again  
Do you remember...?  
__Do You Remember by Phil Collins_

_**Chapter 1 – Remember**_

You don't know how long you'd been sleeping when you heard it, but you doubt it had been long.  
**You don't know how long you'd been standing out there prepping yourself before you started to knock.**

Or maybe you're still sleeping. You lay in bed completely still, holding your breath so there's no possibility you're mistaking the sound.  
**It can't have been long, or you might have lost your nerve. You take a deep breath and knock soundly, so there's no mistaking the sound.**

_Knock, knock, knock, knock_

It's no mistake. The hollow knock is real. You can feel hope building in your chest and you squash it mercilessly and viciously. You remind yourself that whatever you wish will happen, will not. It never does.  
**There's no mistaking that. The knock is loud enough to wake the dead. You hope you're not waking the neighbors. Not because you care; you don't. But you don't want to have to do this for an audience**. **It never works.**

You drag yourself from bed and walk to your door, forgoing your slippers to tiptoe in your bare feet. You don't want him to hear you coming, in case you decide not to open the door.  
**You listen intently, trying to pick up any sort of noise from within. She took a cab when she left the bar, you're not even sure she's home, but you plan to knock until she opens the door.**

You lean up to peer through the peephole, just to make sure. It's him. He can't have heard you approaching. He wouldn't look so real if he had. Left hand braced against the door frame, right hand clutching his cane fiercely enough to whiten his knuckles, he looks…nervous, determined, anxious and exhausted.  
**You decide you'll count to thirty before you start knocking again. Your leg gives you a twinge to let you know it's not happy about your decision. You brace yourself against the door frame to relieve it a bit, gripping your cane hard to bleed out some tension. You're very aware how huge this is, and just how unsure you still are about it.**

He looks how you imagine you do every time you think the two of you are about to have some kind of real moment together, some kind of, dare you think it, breakthrough in this ridiculous mess. He looks like he's expecting the next thing.  
**You still aren't sure exactly what you're expecting to happen. You can only hope that once you get your chance to say…whatever it is you're going to say, that things won't seem such a mess. You expect something new. Else. Next.**

You lean your head against the door, completely unsure now whether you can even let him in. Because when he looks like that, all you can do is remember the first time he ever appeared here at your doorstep.  
**You lean your head against the door, almost convinced that she's not home. You don't want to think about where else she might have gone, and that thought reminds you of the first time you ever showed up here.**

The day he came to ask you back.  
**The day you came to ask her back.**

You don't dare to hope he's come tonight for that same reason.  
**You can only hope that tonight you'll have the same success.**

But why else would he have come? If his sole intention in asking you to talk about this was to get it out in the open for the final time, then he's more than accomplished his task. You know he can be a little sadistic, but you've never known him to be actively cruel. Seeking you out to mock you about this is too overt for him.  
**What else could you have done? Drinks at the bar went completely opposite to your plan. It was never supposed to be about hurting her or driving her away. You know you have a reputation for being a bastard; you're afraid that has finally come back to bite you. It's another hurdle, and jumping them is a lot harder with the cane.**

You're left wondering then, what other reason is there for him to be here?  
**You're left wondering then, what other way is there for you to be around her?**

You place your hand on the door just below your line of vision, and you swear you can _feel_ him out there.  
**You place your hand on the door just below your line of vision, and you swear you can **_**feel**_** her in there. **

Waiting.

You can't live your whole life like this though, like you're in some sort of suspended animation just cocooned within yourself until you either blossom or wither.  
**You can't spend all night standing out here in the hall, though. Your leg will give out. But the real question is, will your leg give out first, or will your heart?**

You've made your decision. Now it's time to stand by it.  
**No. You've made your decision. Now it's time to stand by it.**

You slide back the chain and twist the deadbolt. You take one deep, calming breath and open the door.  
**You straighten up and are about to start banging on the door in earnest when you hear the locks clicking.**

Although he must have heard you unbolting the locks, you think immediately that you must have caught him by surprise. You've never seen him looking so open when he knew someone was watching.  
**You know the door is opening, but it's just not enough time to shield yourself from what you're afraid you might see. You've never seen her looking more cautious, more resigned, more determined or more broken.**

And in that instant, you remember everything that made you love him in the first place. Every subtle nuance of tone, every hidden softening of eyes, every feat of medical derring-do when nobody was supposed to know. All those tiny pieces that, in your mind, built a puzzle picture of a man who cared but was afraid to show it.  
**And in that instant, you remember everything that made you afraid to love her in the first place. Every honest look, every forthright declaration, every refusal to back down when nobody believed she had a chance. All those tiny pieces that, in your mind, built a puzzle picture of a woman who cared so much she couldn't help but show it.**

You remember how he stole your heart.  
**You remember how she asked for your heart.**

And you wish you knew how to get it back.  
**And you wish you knew how to tell her she already had it.**


	2. Whisper

A/N: So like I said, this is kind of weird. Still the plain text is Cameron & the bold text is House. But now that we're into dialogue, I'm trying to show how sometimes what you say and what the other person hears are two completely different things. So the parts in _italics_ are the what the person listening heard. _This is what Cameron is hearing. **But this is what House is hearing.**_ I know it's very different, and if you don't like the format I can appreciate that. But please be gentle when you tell me :)

_Catch me as I fall  
Say you're here and it's all over now  
-__Whisper by Evanescence_

Chapter 2 -Whisper

"House, its one o'clock in the morning. Are you crazy?"  
_**You don't want me. So what do you want?**_

****_**  
**_"**No. I'm cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs."  
**_Don't push me. I'll get there._

You stare at him for a long moment before sighing in resignation and letting him in. You don't stop to reflect on how this is exactly the opposite of what you just told yourself you were going to do.  
**You watch her staring at you, waiting for her to decide if she's going to let you in. You don't stop to reflect that once she lets you inside, you really have no idea what is supposed to happen next.**

You're not sure what you were going to do matters. He's here.  
**You're not sure there is a 'supposed to happen'. You're just here.**

You close the door behind him and turn to find him already sitting on the couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table and cane across his lap.  
**You limp past her and settle down onto the couch. You have a feeling this could take awhile, and you might as well be comfortable.**

You think he looks like the sheriff in one of those old westerns, with his rifle slung across his thighs just waiting for trouble.  
**You keep a firm grip on your cane. It's partly for distraction, partly a security blanket, partly for a swift getaway in case there's trouble.**

You sit in the armchair across from him. You can give him trouble if that's what he's looking for.  
**She sits in the armchair across from you. You have a feeling that trouble is staring you in the face.**

"Seriously. It's the middle of the night. I think we've said everything there is to be said. Why are you here?"  
_**You already know I'm broken. You promised you wouldn't do this. Why are you crushing me?**_

You don't care for preamble tonight. You're tired and still not sure you're making the right choice. The longer he's here, the weaker you'll feel. It's really best to just get him out as quickly and painlessly as possible. As if getting rid of House could ever be quick or painless.  
**You won't admit a lot of things about her, but one thing you've always liked about Cameron is that she doesn't beat around the bush. There's none of the long and torturous double speak with her. Sometimes you think even talking about feelings with her could be quick and painless.**

"**About that."  
**_Maybe not._

You wait. You have let him in, and despite your best intentions, you may be allowing hope to leak through the barriers, but you are not going to make a move. This is his game; he's going to have to play it.  
**You pause. You got yourself in the door, but in reality that is as far as you planned. You don't have a move, a strategy, and despite appearances, you're not a fly by the seat of your pants kind of guy.**

"**I believe you were the only one to express feelings."  
**_I've come to remind you exactly why I'm not a good idea._

You wince as he speaks. Still, after all that has happened, he's not happy with your being hurt. He wants you as broken as he always imagined you to be. He wants you shattered.  
**You see her wince, and you have to take a deep breath to stop from shouting. That's not what you meant, but everything you say seems to hurt her more. Break her more. **

"Thank you, House, for pointing out yet again that I'm the only one with feelings. Believe me, it's not a lesson I intend to forget."  
_**I'm an idiot, and you don't care. I'm an idiot, and you don't care. I'm an idiot, and you don't care. I'm an idiot, and you don't care**__._

Your voice is cold. You have to be cold; it's the only thing available at the moment to stem the bleeding from your heart.  
**You hate when she's cold, because you know why she does it. It's the same reason you do. Cold preserves things. Like hearts.**

"**That's not what I…"  
**_No, no, no, no…_

**You heave out a sigh and think about all the ways you could fuck this up.  
**He sounds almost contrite and for one crazy second you think maybe…

"**You didn't give me a chance."  
**_You didn't give me a chance._

"I didn't give you a chance?!"  
_**Are you blind and stupid too?! **_

He really has gone crazy. You've done nothing but give him chance after chance for the past four years and all he's ever done is stomp on your heart like a cockroach skittering through his kitchen. Worthy only of the time it takes to scrape the guts off the bottom of his precious Nikes.  
**Now you're getting somewhere. It may not be exactly where you wanted to go, but a yelling Cameron is infinitely better than a frigid Cameron. Maybe the line between love and hate is a little finer than you had previously imagined. At least now you can tell she feels something.**

"**Okay, poor choice of words. I didn't ask you out for a drink to try and ply you with alcohol and take you for a quick tumble. Not that I'd****turn that down, but I actually had something to say."  
**_Stop nit-picking. I'm trying to tell you something the only way I know how. I'm going to be rude and inappropriate but somewhere in there I have something important to say so shut up and listen!_

You lean back in the armchair and wait. You suppose you really ought to at least respond, but some sadistic part of you, some tiny little bit that has been hurt one too many times, is actually enjoying watching him squirm as he tries to work up the courage to say whatever it is he's trying to say. You were never the innocent little ingénue he thought you were, but even you recognize that you've changed in the past few years.  
**You swing your legs off the coffee table and lean over your knees to stare down at the floor. You were hoping she would say something, try to coax it out of you. Somehow, you feel like if she'd made an effort to draw you out, you might not feel so out of sorts. You should have taken into account the stronger Cameron, the one who doesn't have to care, or at least doesn't have to show it. The Cameron you helped to shape these past few years.**

You may not like all the changes, but you've embraced them. With experience comes wisdom. But experience and wisdom come at a price, and for you that price has been a little of your compassion. You should feel badly about staring him right in the eye while he struggles with the hardest thing for him, an honest conversation.  
**You like the way she's changed, become stronger, more sure of herself and even a little hard. Except, of course, for right now, when she actually seems to be enjoying the way you're tripping over your own tongue trying to do something that ought to be really simple. You just have to say what you feel.**

But you don't.  
**But you can't.**

You wait for an indeterminate amount of time. Until you feel like maybe you read him wrong and he really is just here to mess with you.  
**You try, but everything you can think of to say is so trite and ridiculous. There's no way to push the words past your lips.**

"I'm going to bed. Let yourself out."  
_**I give up.**_

"**Cameron, please," you whisper. "Don't...don't go."  
**_I'm doing the best I can,_ you hear. _Please, just one more try._


	3. Stronger

_Now that that don't kill me  
__Can only make me stronger  
__I need you to hurry up now  
_'_Cuz I can't wait much longer  
-__Stronger by Kanye West_

Chapter 3 – Stronger

You don't want to give him one more chance. You've given him dozens of chances, hundreds, really. He's never been interested before. And no matter how much one part of you screams that he's finally come to his senses, another part screams even louder that this is a trap.  
**You can't remember the last time waiting for something was so painful. You've never been a patient person. You're the type who reads the last chapter of a book first, fast forwards to the end of a movie and reads the gossip rags for spoilers. Waiting for her to change your life is torture.**

Run!  
**Hurry up!**

You can't run. Not now. You promised yourself you wouldn't let him suck you in. But you also promised yourself you were going to have no regrets about him. If you don't hear him out, you'll regret it.  
**You can almost hear her arguing with herself. You know she's trying to be strong, trying not to let you hurt her and trying to get what she wants at the same time. You know; you've been doing the same thing.**

You walk back to the armchair and sit. You clasp your hands together and clamp them between your knees.  
**You grip your cane hard when she returns sits. You resist the urge to twirl it, and tap the carpet instead.**

No amount of telling yourself not to get excited can stop you from doing exactly that. You feel like you did before your date. That sobers you a bit. You remember how that turned out; you're not anxious for a repeat performance.  
**No amount of telling yourself not to screw it up can stop you from doing exactly that. You feel like you did when you were on your date. That scares you. You remember how that turned out; you're not anxious to repeat it.**

"**This is … I never said I didn't want you."  
**_This is…what I want doesn't really matter._

**You hate this; you've always hated this. People should just know what you mean.  
**You watch him bite out every word, as if it pains him.

"**Who wouldn't want you? I just don't think … I don't know if wanting something is enough."  
**_You're pretty. I'd sleep with you. I don't know if I can offer you any more than that, if I can give you what you want._

"And how do you know what I want?"  
_**Why can't you believe that I want you?**_

"**You want love. You want a relationship. You want someone you can make a life with. A family."  
**_You want perfection, and that's not what I am. You want the fairy tale, but I'm no Prince Charming._

"I am so sick of everyone trying to tell me what I want!" You shout at him. "My whole life, people have been telling me what I should want. I should want a good job, but I shouldn't want to be a doctor. I should want a husband and a kids, but not until I'm older. My parents, my teachers, my friends. Chase and Foreman, hell even Cuddy and Wilson have all tried to tell me that I shouldn't want you."  
_**How the hell can you possibly know what I want? You're the one who always says never to assume anything, never to take for granted that you know the answer. But you're being just like everyone else! You want to know everything, unless it means challenging something you've already decided. How can you know what I want, when you never bothered to get to know me**_

"**Cameron, I…Wilson said that?"  
**_Why didn't you listen?_

"Dammit, I am not a child. You, of all people, should be able to see now that I am not a naïve little optimist, only seeing rainbows and pots of gold. Stop telling me what I want!"  
_**Forget Wilson! You made me strong, now stop treating me like a high school girl with a crush on the quarterback hoping for a date to prom. Stop making this all about me!**_

**You stand up from the couch and begin to pace around her living room. This is starting to get a little tense. You think maybe just getting it over with would be best.  
**Your legs are already bouncing nervously. You watch him rise and his tension is making you clench. Whatever he's doing, you wish he'd just do it already.

"**What do you want me to say?"  
**_I'm screwing this up. Help. _

You want to make him say he wants you, but only if that's why he really came here. You notice him distancing himself from you; you can't stop from reading things into the gesture. He has to do this on his own.  
**You stop and face her from behind the couch. You don't know why that barrier makes you feel better, but if you're going to let down the metaphorical ones, a solid replacement is in order, if only for comfort.**

"You once told us that we weren't GM. We weren't making cars and we didn't give out guarantees. Same deal here. Nobody ever knows what's going to happen. Maybe we'll live happily ever after. Maybe we won't. If not, it will hurt. That, I could take. But this, this constant will we, won't we. I've done as much of this as I can. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong."  
_**You're the one who wants perfection. You want to know how**__**this is all going to end. Who's going to hurt who? How badly? The truth is, I don't know. Neither do you. Maybe it won't hurt at all. Happily ever after happens sometimes, even if it is by accident. I'd rather try and fail than not try and miss out. But there are other things in life to try. I can't keep waiting. **_

You don't know what else you could say. You think you understand, but you've read him wrong before. You can't do anything now but stay as strong as you can and wait for him to decide.  
**You feel like such a complete coward. You hate that you can't just make yourself tell her the truth. What else could she say to make it clear that she's willing to give this a shot if you are? **

Is he strong enough to try?  
**Are you strong enough to try?**

Or will you have to be strong enough to leave without ever giving it a shot?  
**Or will you continue to live a coward's life, never having given it a shot?  
**


	4. Too Late?

_It's never too late to make it right  
-__I'm Sorry by Buckcherry_

Chapter 4 - Too Late?

You stand up from your armchair and cross your arms over your chest. It's a defensive posture, and you know it, and you know you should be avoiding it, but he's the one hiding behind the couch and of the two of you, you can't imagine him being the one who really needs that protection.  
**You watch her stand up and cross her arms and think how she looks like she's bracing herself for something. It's a very Cameron pose, she uses it all the time to express her unwillingness to yield, but her eyes are not hard and defiant like they should be when she stands like that.**

You steady yourself for what he's about to say. He's supremely uncomfortable.  
**She's bracing herself for an argument. For a rejection. For pain.**

Fuck.

"**You were right. I'm afraid."  
**_I lied._ _I'm afraid._

"Of what?"

"**You."**

You scoff. "Please, if anyone should be afraid of anyone else here, it's me of you."  
_**That's rich. Me, the one you routinely refer to as the weak one, and I scare you.**_

**You huff impatiently and wave your cane. "Am I ever going to get to talk here? We could have done this whole thing in five minutes if you'd just shut up."  
**_Would you just for crying out loud listen to me for once?! Talk about assuming what the other person is saying._

You have the decency to blush.

"**I'm not … a relationship guy. Ask Wilson, I'm sure he keeps a list." You scratch your thumbnail gently across your forehead. "I take, all the time, and I hardly ever give back. Well, unless you count bullshit, which I dole out with unending generosity. But you … you take it. The bullshit, I mean. You've been taking it right along. Sometimes I think you take it even better than Wilson. You whine about it less than he does. At least to me. How much can you take? When do you stop giving?"  
**_I'm not going to be easy. I mean that in every possible sense. I am going to coldly and methodically mete out every possible insult and construct a hundred barriers, while I push every boundary you set until I find the point at which you will declare me unworthy of you. Then I'll do the smallest thing necessary to win you back, and spend the rest of our time together testing the line you've drawn. I will make you doubt yourself and me and us to within an inch of your sanity. Every day will be exhausting and nearly fruitless._

**You realize that you're pacing again, back and forth behind the couch. You can't seem to stop your legs from moving, which is fine since neither can you stop your mouth from babbling like a love struck teen-aged imbecile with a hormone imbalance.  
**You realize that while he's pacing and babbling, he's talking about a relationship with you as if it's a foregone conclusion. Is that what scares him? That he can't stop himself from feeling something he doesn't want to feel?

You hate that love scares him.  
**You hate what love does to you.**

"**Anyway, the point is, you're like …Moby Dick to my Ahab."  
**_Anyway, the point is, you're like…Moby Dick to my Ahab._

"You want to hunt me down and kill me," you deadpan. You can feel your confidence building.  
_**I'm your eventual downfall. **_**Something about her tone says she's toying with you.**

"**No. Bad metaphor. You're … the cigarette they give a guy facing the firing squad."  
**_Quit being a smart ass. You're …the cigarette they give a guy facing the firing squad._

"So," you volley back smugly, "I'm your last hurrah before you face an inevitable demise."  
_**Even better. **_**She's definitely teasing you. **_**I'm just a final fling before you're too old to be flung anymore.**_

"**Are you mocking me?" You ask her in a low and dangerous voice. She just smiles.  
**_Dish it out while you can,_ he threatens. It's empty though. You just smile.

**That smile, that gorgeous, breathtaking, soul lifting, happiness promising smile changes the entire atmosphere of the room.  
**You watch him watching you, and even though the eye contact is still very intense, it's suddenly not so scary. Maybe he just seems less scared.

"Am I really that scary?"  
_**What are you so afraid of?**_

"**Cuddy's scarier in her sleep."  
**_You, you, always you._

You unfold your arms from your chest and place your hands on your hips.He still hasn't really said anything.  
**You watch her change her stance. Less defensive, more annoyed. Annoyed is good. Annoyed you know. **

"**You're not scary. But I'm scared****of you. I'm scared of you being the last one. My last chance. And once I screw this up…"  
**_Not you. Failure. Being alone. I'm scared of you being the last chance I'm going to get. Or that it's too late. And when I screw it up…_

"If."  
_**You won't.**_

You drop your arms and circle your way around the couch toward him, stopping just a few inches from him. Not close enough to feel his breath but close enough to smell that scent. _Him.  
_**You keep talking even as she's walking toward you, breaking barriers again. She stops half a foot from you. Not close enough to smell her perfume, but near enough to watch her pupils dilate.**

"**When I screw this up … I'm done. I barely know if I can do this again now. I definitely know I won't be able to …There won't be a next time."  
**_I didn't want to do this again. Ever. Now you're here. You got in. Next time the walls will have to be even higher._

You step in and put your hand on his hand while it clutches his cane. His voice falls off and his eyes are drawn to that simple, but powerful, link between you.  
**Your thoughts trail off as she comes nearer to you and places her hand on yours. That simple contact, less than a square foot of shared space and suddenly this seems very easy.**

"House," you whisper.  
_**I love you.**_


	5. At Last

_You smiled, and then the spell was cast  
And here we are in heaven  
And you are mine at last  
-__At Last by Etta James_

Chapter 5 - At Last

**You stare at your joined hands for another few seconds, just swimming in the heat that is radiating between you, heat you didn't even think you'd been missing until now. As your gaze travels up her arm, across her collarbone and neck, you can feel the heat spreading through those same parts of your body until your eyes reach her face.  
**You follow the progress of his gaze with your own eyes, desperate for the moment when your eyes meet his. From your hand clasped over his, the connection that is generating enough heat to warm all of Princeton for the next ten winters, up your arm, slowly across your collarbone and neck until he reaches your face.

**You knew this, if it ever happened, this would be something unlike anything with anyone that you'd ever … but you hadn't even begun to imagine. Your pulse hasn't thundered in your ears nor your heart pounded in your chest like this since the last time you took an amphetamine. From the fact that only your hands are touching, you deduce this is going to be bigger than everything else before it, and probably everything after.  
**You knew _this_, when it finally happened, _this_ would be the most intense, the most _everything_ you'd ever … but you hadn't even begun to imagine. Your skin is crawling, physically twitching with desire to be near him in reaction to just his _look. _From the way the flesh of your palm and fingers feel about as normal to you as would a glove of molten lava, you begin to realize the sheer magnitude of what is about to come.

**You've been so afraid that you wouldn't measure up. And that nothing afterwards would ever measure up again. You've denied yourself hope because you've feared that this, that she, would pale everything else.  
**You are going to measure any other experience, not any other man, because after this there may never be another man, but any other anything against these moments. Everything from now may pale in comparison.

You don't care.

**You're willing to admit you were wrong.  
**Any future lackluster event is worth it.

**This is worth it.  
**He's worth it.

Your lips are smoldering, not enough space existing to allow in the oxygen to ignite a flame. You can feel hands tangling in your hair. It's slightly rough and a little frantic. Or maybe not, considering you think you might have just popped off a few buttons. All you really know, or care about, is this time it isn't a dream. This time it's real.

You manage to pry your lips apart long enough for the flurry of wrinkled cotton to fly. Your chests are pressing together and _ohmygod. _Your nipples are hard as rocks, and every little movement is targeting the pleasure center of your brain with a jolt of sensory input that is sure to overload any rational sense you might have left.

You start moving; walking, you realize. You stumble and collide with walls and the odd piece of furniture. You have just enough thought left to wonder if you look as bad as those scenes in movies where the two lovers trip over each other in their haste to get to the bedroom. Then you think maybe you only thought they looked bad because it had been so long since you'd really wanted to hasten your approach to the bedroom with anyone.

You collapse onto the bed and you're not thinking anymore. All you can do is feel.

Hands everywhere. Hot breath in your ear, on your neck. Scratching nails and clutching fingers. Slick skin, sliding and rubbing with beautiful friction. Hungry mouths, slippery tongues and tentative teeth.

Sometimes rough, sometimes soft. Instants where time seems to stop completely and then instants where you have no sense of time at all. Heat, sweat, moans, sighs, even tears.

Ignorance isn't bliss.

This is.

You don't want this to end, ever, but every fiber in you is begging for that sweet release. You need it, but you hold it off as long as you can. Its torture, but you'd gladly do it all over again. And again.

You can. This is real now. It's not a dream you will wake up from in a hot and frustrated sweat. You can do it again tomorrow, next week, in twenty minutes if things go well.

You give in. The earth doesn't move, the ground doesn't shake, the angels don't weep. But if they did, you wouldn't know. Your climax is so complete, it isn't even purely physical. It's an end not just to this act, but to your inertia, your paralysis. You have collided, and the momentum has carried you here. To this time and this place where you have fused with another person, someone you love.

You lie there afterwards, the sweat drying from your skin making you cold. You're too deliciously tired to care. You only register the cool in the room as an automatic response, the same way you're aware your breathing slows and your heart beats instead of pounds.

You turn your head on the pillow and smile at the most beautiful face you've ever seen.

"**It's about damn time."  
**_I love you too._

_A/N: Okay folks, so that's it. Thank you all for your very kind comments throughout this series. _


End file.
